Good Luck
by DamselOnDrums
Summary: He awakes one morning only to notice that she isn't there. The only way to find her, and what she's hiding, is to play along, right? One shot. Rating for innuendos and tiny bit of language.


_Meh, I got bored yesterday. I had National Treasure so I figured, why not? It's pretty much fluff, I guess. Hope you enjoy- I didn't get to sleep until 1 a.m. this morning. OH! And it's better if you don't cheat by looking up the meaning of the word. Enjoy! -Taylor. xx_

_Disclaimer: **Um, so yeah. NT isn't mine, Post-It notes aren't mine... Yep. I think that's it.**_

* * *

He awoke to a cold bed that morning, which was strange not only because it was the middle of summer in Maryland, but also because _she _wasn't there. He rolled over, rubbing the sleep from his yes as best he could. When his vision was somewhat in tact again, he caught sight of the curtains thrown wide open, where the view of their enormous backyard, patio, and pool took over in the scenic beauty of the room. He smiled, despite his best efforts to act like it didn't make his heart swell every time he saw it. In part, that was why he bought the property in the first place, that and the rich history of the place. It was big enough and old enough to have secret passages as well as little nooks and crannies that were perfect for hiding the smaller important things she didn't need to know – or worry – about. On more than one occasion he had used these to his advantage, and on other occasions, she had as well. He hadn't quite figured out where her hiding places were, but he was absolutely determined to find them. All of them.

What caught his eye was the vibrant, neon orange post-it note placed delicately on top of her fluffy, white pillow. He furrowed his thick brows, pulling himself into a sitting position. He pulled the paper from its previous position and examined the perfectly written cursive.

_Ben-_

_I got up early this morning and I didn't want to wake you. I thought today we could work on your German. Don't worry, we'll start of easy. Try this: Schwanger._

_Good luck, my love._

_-Abigail._

_P.S. I had Riley block the internet for the day so you couldn't cheat. Cell service, too._

He frowned slightly, the meaning of the word eluding him. He hated not knowing when it came to her. He hated being left in the dark, like she didn't want to include him in these matters. However, she was, in a twisted sort of way, including him. She was being awfully coy about it, though, which made the wheels in his head begin to turn. Why as she not just telling him out right? He mulled over a few of the possible reasons, but all seemed absurd when all was said and done. The word jumped out at him, begging to be translated.

Taking the note with him, he slid out of bed only to begin pacing a moment later. _Schwanger, schwanger..._ he thought repeatedly. _What does that mean?_ Beginning to feel frustrated, he padded into the master bathroom, leaning on the vanity with the note under his nose. He read it over and over and over until the writing was permanently burned into his brain. Ben closed his eyes as he lifted his head toward the mirror. He could see the word on the inside of his eyelids, taunting him, almost. If only to escape the word, he opened them again. He was met with another fluorescent green post-it with the same black writing on it.

_Aw, now Ben, don't get upset yet, you haven't even found the first clue yet. I know how important that first clue is; it's made so you can get your search started off in the right direction. So what do you say; are you up for a little adventure today? I thought you might say yes, but even if you didn't, figure this out anyway:_

_Behind the door, past the table, beyond the chairs, down the hall; find whatever it is beneath them all.._

_You're wise, so don't call._

_Just make sure that you don't fall._

_I thought I should start you off easy for your sake as well as mine. Good luck, my love._

He dove deep into his mind in attempts to find the spot in his – their – home that was behind a door, table, chairs, and down a hall. He swiped the note off of the glass, slipped from the room, and stood by the window. His eyes landed on the patio and didn't leave; he was too far lost in thought to do much else. He muttered the words to himself under his breath half a dozen times, once again memorizing exactly what it said. His mind's eye took him out of his bedroom, for there was no hall in there, eliminated the guest bedrooms, the dining room, his study, the library, and the entire second floor. With sudden quickness he rushed downstairs, realization striking him like a brick. His pace increased as he trotted down the hall to the sitting room, and past the coffee table surrounded by the Queen Anne chair and his favorite loveseat. There it all was, just backwards. _Clever_, he admitted, turning the handle to open the glass doors that lead to the back patio. He could see the yellow sticky notes hanging off said glass from the other side. He stood in front of them, nearly tripping over the step from the door frame to the stone beneath his feet. On the left were capital 'N's, on the right was another note.

_I see you've found the first clue; congratulations. I can almost see the gears turning now. Now don't get too excited yet, I doubt even you could figure it out from just one letter. Don't be discouraged, either, you're catching on nicely. How about the next clue then?_

_The second time around, this got christened within minutes. Narrows things down, doesn't it?_

_I gave up on rhyming. Too long. Good luck, my love._

_No. It doesn't narrow it down,_ he thought with a smile. He remembered the night when they got back from South Dakota, right when the last of his things arrived at the house. They certainly made up for lost time that night. Ben distinctly remembered not actually making it to the bed until one or two in the morning, then not actually falling asleep until over an hour later. A better – no, easier question would have been where _didn't_ they christen? But, eventually, the sequence of events fell into a muddy order. The bed was last. Definitely last. Before that was... _the kitchen_. He grinned sheepishly at the memory before going over the other few places they were that night.

He wandered back through the door towards the den, pocketing the letter and reading the note one more time. "Within minutes..." he mumbled, rubbing his stubbly chin absently. "Geez Abi. Care to be more specific?" He sighed and sunk down onto the arm of a wood-back chair, not even bothering to move six inches below to the padded seat.

He starred at the drapes covering the window to the front lawn. It made the room dark, not to mention the fact that there was a widow seat there. There were small patches of light shining on the navy, velvet cushions. Normally, he probably wouldn't have noticed, nor cared, seeing as they hardly ever spent more than an hour in there, but for some reason, the sheer darkness of the room bothered him. It contrasted them too much, especially with Riley around. With Riley, things were never dull or dark, but lively, light, and vivacious.

After a solid minute of it bothering the carp out of him, he crossed the room and threw them open. A scrap of white gracefully littered down from the dark fabric. He smiled to himself, bemusedly. "That's right." He snatched the paper up from the floor. All it had on it was a 'E'. He flipped it over, expecting another long note, but found nothing of the sort. Confused, Ben nearly tore apart the entire seat to find nothing remotely resembling a note from Abigail.

It wasn't like Ben to give in so easily, but after a few minutes, when he was sure that he would pry it out of her when he found her, he plopped himself down, leaning against the window. In exasperation, he huffed and looked towards the ceiling. There, clear as day, was another yellow sticky note.

_Had you there for a minute, didn't I? You should know me better than that after all. So. I wonder where you're headed next. Could it be the room where I was when you left?_

_Okay so maybe I lied about the whole rhyming thing. Did that even rhyme? Good luck, my love._

He barely had to think about that one. The fight that had ended it the first time was hazy, but he clearly remembered seeing her in the window of the second guest room on the second floor. That was where he guessed she slept until they got back together, because the bedroom barely looked touched when he got back. He knew she was neat and organized, but not so much that it looked like no one lived in the room. She'd had tears rolling down her cheeks and she was fiddling with the chain around her neck in her usual nervous habit, but never had he ever seen her so broken before. It reminded him with a pang how much he had actually hurt her, and how little he actually noticed at the time.

Pushing the rather depressing thought to the back of his mind, he charged up the stairs once again with the renewed energy rivaling a five year old on Halloween. As soon as he entered the bedroom he spotted the note as well as the letter, carefully placed on the freshly made bed. 'A. He shook his head. "Losing your touch, Abigail," he muttered, reading the note several times.

I didn't think this would take you long. I advise you pick up the pace a little bit if you really want to uncover the message. Wouldn't it be _neat _if you found the next letter soon? Good luck, my love.

_What? Since when does Abi say ne- oh. _Ben rolled his eyes. She was getting sloppy to the point where he just wished he could grab the last few clues just to find her and nag her about dragging it out for so long. Checking his watch, his mind flicked back to the word in German she had scrawled. _Schwanger_. He pondered over it once again as he exited the room to head downstairs. His legs would get more of a workout from her little game than they did on any other normal day.

When he reached the stairwell to the cellar, he had figured out that he needed to invest in a German dictionary. Not only because it was killing him not knowing, but also because he wanted to know some of the swears she used when she was hurt or frustrated or exasperated. He at least wanted to _know_ what she was yelling at him instead of inferring. Or he needed to hire a translator to follow then around sometimes. _That probably wouldn't work in bed, though..._ he mused, recalling the scream of some profanity he couldn't identify a few nights previously. The bright blue of the post-it note caught his eye, dragging his mind back up from the gutter it had been sitting in not a minute before. 'T'

_Told you it would be neat. You catch on fast, Gates. Now, **just this once**, I give you permission to go into that drawer to find your next clue. Just. This. Once. I mean it, Benjamin Franklin Gates. Good luck, my horny love._

With all the qualities of Riley's child-like excitement, he bounced back up the stairs, practically skipping into their bedroom. It took him a moment of savoring before he conjured up the actual courage to open the door to their walk-in closet. He took two steps forward, reached down, pulled open the bottom left drawer of _her_ dresser, the same drawer he was told never to touch. He had obeyed, like any smart man would do. She had assured him that there wasn't much in there anyway, but every once in a while, he caught her shutting it quickly as he walked in the room. This was his one shot to find out what it was exactly that she was hiding, and he did not intent to turn it down.

He took a breath before looking down. It was empty. He cursed under his breath, kneeling down to inspect it. Jammed against the back were two green pieces of paper wrapped carelessly inside some form of red cloth. He furrowed his brows, reaching to pull it out. The papers fell away, as he was more interested in the flimsy material between his finger tips. As it uncurled itself, he saw that it was none other than a rather lacy pair of panties. He smiled broadly. He'd never seen her wear anything of the nature before, mostly because when they were in the mood was usually when she got home from the Archives or he had gotten home late from a trip and sexiness had taken a backseat to comfort. _Oh, I am _so _keeping these,_ he thought, stuffing them loosely between his plaid pajama pants and boxer-briefs.

Remembering the note, Ben picked it off the floor, seeing the letter 'G' on one, and actual words on the other. He placed the first with the rest of its kind in his other hand before moving to the latter.

_First of all, put those back. Second of all, stop grinning like an idiot. Third of all, check the most obvious spot on the property. I rest my case about the horny thing, too. Good luck, my love._

He sighed in defeat, throwing the panties back into the drawer, and reading the note again. There were probably just as many, if not more, obvious places in the house than the nooks and crannies. There were the kitchen cabinets, for example, or the painting above the mantel, or even the television, for Pete's sake, all of which he had passed and not seen a darn thing. It was almost ten o'clock in the morning, and his patients was not doing so well. _Obvious... Obvious means we're there all the time. Obvious would be in the open, where everyone can see it. Something I've probably passed today but not noticed... Like... Like a wall, or a door, or a window... _Then it clicked.

He took his time, this time around, to go down the stairs. He was far from being out of shape, but the stairs were doing a number on his still sleep-stiff limbs. His pace was at a leisurely stroll by the time he reached the front door. When he saw nothing on the side he was facing, he unlocked it, as apparently no one had before, swung it open and spotted orange on the welcome mat. He bent down, scooped them up, reentered the house, shut the door, and began to read them all in one, long, but fluid motion. 'R'

_Well look at you, finding all the right places to look. Okay hot shot, go check the master bath again; maybe you missed something before. Good luck finding this one, my love._

It was simple enough. She even outright told him where she'd put it. However, upon entering the almost completely white master bathroom, he saw no bright colors anywhere. He plowed through the entire room searching for just one glimpse of paper, but no such luck. _Figures_. He eased himself down onto the edge of the bathtub, resting his head in his hands. He had as of yet to completely uncover the mystery that was his wife, which made this little game of hers so much more painful. If he could just figure out her angle the whole way, he would know exactly where to look, but there would also be nothing new, just an endless lifetime of sameness, and for Ben Gates, that wasn't in the realm of possibilities.

He placed the letters down on the floor in front of him in no particular order. With eight letters on hand, it was awhile before he began to see what the word was. Placing them in order with a semi-smug grin spreading his lips across his face was like a kid opening up the key to a candy store on Christmas morning. Now realizing what she was playing at, he leaned forward far enough to open the cabinet that held most of Abigail's "personal items" as she referred to them. Starring him straight in the face was a box showing off two very bright pink notes, one with a Sharpie-d in 'P', the other a few letters longer.

_Now you get to come find me. You won't need luck, my love._

Leaving all but the box behind, he nearly sprinted off down the hallway calling her name. He had a vague idea of where she'd be, but it didn't hurt to pass through all of the rooms she could have been in – the library, the den, the living room, the dining room – before decisively heading for the kitchen with new found determination.

And there she was.

She was sitting on the counter, chewing what he assumed to be a piece of the pear she had in her hand. He stopped in the doorway, still grinning like a fool, watching her, holding up the box. It took her a moment before she realized she was being watched, but when she did, she cocked an eyebrow. "Well? Would you say that you're successful?" she asked, as if it were the simplest thing in the entire world.

He chuckled as she slid off to stand on her own two feet, resting the fruit beside the sink. "_Well_, I think that you should come over here and we can find that out together," he replied. She gave a coy smile, but obliged. She hooked her arm with his as she stood on his right side. He opened said box, extracting from it a white, plastic stick with barely a splash of color to it. And he didn't even have to look at the box to know what the two little blue lines meant. "I would say this mission was a success, wouldn't you, Dr. Gates?"

"I would say so. I-" But, before she could even begin to form the sentence, his lips were sealed over her's in an overpowering, bone-melting kiss. One that lasted longer than she thought possible without coming up for air. One where she physically had to grab hold of him from behind his head to steady herself. When they did break apart, she stroked the hair at the base of his skull. "So I take it that you're happy, too?"

He didn't have to reply; she already knew the answer.


End file.
